For Carley, however, sleep did not soon come.  She had too many aches; the aftermath of her shock of fright abided with her; and the blackness of night, the cold whip of wind over her face, and the unprotected helplessness she felt in this novel bed, were too entirely new and disturbing to be overcome at once.  So she lay wide eyed, staring at the dense gray shadow, at the flickering lights upon the cedar.  At length her mind formed a conclusion that this sort of thing might be worth the hardship once in a lifetime, anyway.  What a concession to Glenn’s West!  In the secret seclusion of her mind she had to confess that if her vanity had not been so assaulted and humiliated she might have enjoyed herself more.  It seemed impossible, however, to have thrills and pleasures and exaltations in the face of discomfort, privation, and an uneasy half-acknowledged fear.  No woman could have either a good or a profitable time when she was at her worst.  Carley thought she would not be averse to getting Flo Hutter to New York, into an atmosphere wholly strange and difficult, and see how she met situation after situation unfamiliar to her.  And so Carley’s mind drifted on until at last she succumbed to drowsiness.

A voice pierced her dreams of home, of warmth and comfort.  Something sharp, cold, and fragrant was scratching her eyes.  She opened them.  Glenn stood over her, pushing a sprig of cedar into her face.

“Carley, the day is far spent,” he said, gayly.  “We want to roll up your bedding.  Will you get out of it?”

“Hello, Glenn!  What time is it?” she replied.

“It’s nearly six.”

“What! . . .  Do you expect me to get up at that ungodly hour?”

“We’re all up.  Flo’s eating breakfast.  It’s going to be a bad day, I’m afraid.  And we want to get packed and moving before it starts to rain.”

“Why do girls leave home?” she asked, tragically.

“To make poor devils happy, of course,” he replied, smiling down upon her.

That smile made up to Carley for all the clamoring sensations of stiff, sore muscles.  It made her ashamed that she could not fling herself into this adventure with all her heart.  Carley essayed to sit up.  “Oh, I’m afraid my anatomy has become disconnected! . . .  Glenn, do I look a sight?” She never would have asked him that if she had not known she could bear inspection at such an inopportune moment.

“You look great,” he asserted, heartily.  “You’ve got color.  And as for your hair—­I like to see it mussed that way.  You were always one to have it dressed—­just so. . . .  Come, Carley, rustle now.”

Thus adjured, Carley did her best under adverse circumstances.  And she was gritting her teeth and complimenting herself when she arrived at the task of pulling on her boots.  They were damp and her feet appeared to have swollen.  Moreover, her ankles were sore.  But she accomplished getting into them at the expense of much pain and sundry utterances more forcible than elegant.  Glenn brought her warm water, a mitigating circumstance.  The morning was cold and thought of that biting desert water had been trying.